She paused on the threshold, uncertain whether her father would wish her to be present at the interview, and at that instant he spoke, apparently in reply to something his caller had said, and his words riveted her to the spot.
"No," he said, in stern tones, "had I been here my daughter would never have been sent back to your school. She was most unjustly and shamefully treated by that fiery little Italian, and you, sir, upheld him in it. When I am at hand no daughter of mine shall be struck by another man, or woman either, with impunity, and Foresti may deem himself fortunate in that I was at a distance when he ventured to commit so great an outrage upon my child."
Lulu waited to hear no more, but ran back to the veranda, where she danced about in a tumult of delight, clapping her hands and saying exultingly to herself, "I just knew papa wouldn't have made me go back to that horrid school and take lessons of that brute of a man. Oh, I do wish he had been here! How much it would have saved me! If my father is strict and stern sometimes, he's ever so much better and kinder than Grandpa Dinsmore. Yes, yes, indeed, he's such a dear father! I wouldn't exchange him for any other, if I could."
Presently she suddenly ceased her jumping and dancing, and stood in an intently listening attitude.
"Yes, he's going—that horrid professor! I'm so glad! I don't believe he'll ever trouble this house again, while papa is in it any way," she said half aloud.
Then running to meet her father as he returned from seeing the professor to the door, she threw her arms round him, exclaiming in a voice quivering with delight. "Oh, you dear, dear papa, I'm so glad, so glad to know that you wouldn't have made me go back to that horrid music teacher! I felt sure at the time that you wouldn't, if you were here."
He heard her with a look of astonishment not unmixed with sternness.
"O papa, please don't be angry with me!" she pleaded, tears starting to her eyes; "I didn't mean to listen, but I happened to be at the library door (I was going back to see if you were done writing that letter and I might be with you again) when you told Professor Manton that you wouldn't have sent me back to Signor Foresti, nor even to his school. It made me so glad, papa, but I didn't stop to hear any more, but ran away to the veranda again; because I knew it wouldn't be right for me to listen to what wasn't intended for me to hear."
He took her hand, led her into the library again, drew her to a seat upon his knee, and softly smoothing back the hair from her forehead, said in kind, fatherly tones, "I am not displeased with you, daughter. I understand that it was quite accidental, and I am sure my little girl is entirely above the meanness of intentionally listening to what is evidently not meant for her ear. And in fact, now that I think of it, I am not sorry that you know I did not, and do not now, approve of the treatment you received at that time. Yet that was the first time I had ever mentioned it to any one, and I should be sorry to have your Grandpa Dinsmore know, or suspect, how entirely I disapproved of what he thought best to do at the time. Can, and will, my little daughter promise to keep the secret? never mentioning it to any one but me?"
"Yes, indeed, papa," she returned, looking up brightly into his face. "Oh, it's nice to be trusted by you, and not even threatened with punishment if I disobey!"